Kelsey went upstairs almost two hours ago. At first I thought she just wanted to be alone for a little bit because all of us together can be a bit overwhelming, but the longer she is gone, the more I start to worry. Did someone say something to upset her? Is she not feeling well?

Nobody’s asked about her. They all saw her leave, but they’ve given me a few questioning looks.

“I’ll be back,” I finally say and head upstairs.

Kelsey is curled up on the bed, sound asleep. That pink box she was so worried about after the break-in is open on the bed. Beside it is stationary and a pen. I shouldn’t pry, but can’t help myself. She’s written a letter to Brandy. In it she talks about Christmas, of finding out the name her parents had given her, and how she hopes her blood can help her and that Kelsey will be able to give her bone marrow, even if it is unlikely. Then she lists her wishes and dreams for Brandy and hopes that she can one day forgive her for giving her up. I nearly cry after reading the letter. I set it aside and move the box so I can get on the bed. Every envelope in that box is addressed to Brandy, and there are at least three dozen.

I had thought Kelsey made peace with giving her child up. Maybe not as much as she wants everyone to believe, and I hate that she still hurts so much.

By the dried tear streaks on her face and the damp pillow, I assume she cried herself to sleep and I’m torn between waking her and letting her sleep. Then I spot the bottle of meds on the nightstand. It’s a popular, over-the-counter med for cramps. I had no idea she was uncomfortable because she never said anything. So, instead of waking her, I pull the blankets up to her shoulders then turn the light down and let her rest.

“Alex?” Her voice is quiet and I lean down.

“Sleep.”

“What time is it?” She shifts and switches the bedside lamp on.

“Afternoon.” I take a seat beside her.

“I didn’t mean to sleep so long.” She pushes the covers aside as she sits.

“How long have you been writing letters to Brandy?”

“Since before she was born.” Kelsey picks up the letter she’d just written, folds it and puts it in an envelope and then adds it to the back of the box. “Maybe I’ll be able to give them to her one day.”

“You will,” I assure her, but I’m not even certain. Brandy could decide to hate her mother for giving her up and refuse to speak to Kelsey or even acknowledge her. Or, she could understand, and want a relationship and understand that Kelsey did what she thought was best. Unfortunately, they won’t know for twelve years when Brandy turns eighteen.